Akasha 4 - Earth by Terra Harmony Page B

His
learning curve with this whole canoe thing was much steeper than
mine.
    "Wasn't that the big city we just went
through?" Susan asked, sitting in the very front, playing
navigator. We decided to stick with the fab four after yesterday's
incident; no more splitting up.
    "Yep," said Alex.
    "So what are you saying?" I
asked.
    "I'm not saying anything, except that
maybe we ought to reach out. See what information we can gather
about places we left, as well as our next destination. Whether the
natural disasters are caused by someone in our group or not," he
cleared his throat, "we don't want to be leaving a
trail."
    Susan glanced at me over her shoulder.
"Could just be a coincidence."
    "Could be," I agreed. Desperation
crept up my chest. She was finding excuses, trying not to be
obvious about the truth.
    So was Alex. "Could be a spy from our
group, leaving bread crumbs the only way they know how," he
suggested in a much lower voice.
    "Maybe…" I said. I looked
down at Bee, busy organizing her play area for the day. Oh fine, I'll just say it. "Or it could be me and Bee."
    Bee looked up at the mention of her
name and shot me a smile. I touched her dimple with my finger, "You
are trouble; you know that?"
    "Let's just see how it plays out,"
Alex mumbled from behind me.
    Very shortly, we'd be in Louisville,
Kentucky. As the morning hours passed, the trees that dotted the
riverbanks became sparse, replaced by wide open parks and fields.
Buildings, many just showing the first signs of neglect with plants
growing out of gutters and broken windows, began outnumbering the
trees. There were people, at first just one or two, then larger
groups of a dozen or more, working along the riverbanks. Washing
clothes, filtering water, or bathing – they all stopped their work
to watch us row past. Bee waved to every single one of them.
Several waved back, smiling.
    "A different perspective from our
hiking trails," Alex said from behind me.
    I nodded. "When we started to see
fewer and fewer people, I thought we were dying out. Turns out
everyone was just flocking to freshwater sources."
    "And thriving," Susan chimed in,
staring at a fenced off area full of chickens. "Remember all the
bones we found?"
    I nodded. On our way from Mammoth Cave
to D.C. then West Virginia, we saw countless remains of dogs and
cats, sometimes even horses, lying exposed by a snuffed out
campfire. "People had to eat something once the packaged food ran
out."
    I touched the bag of canned vegetables
at my side. The chickens, even scratching around in the mud as they
were, looked far tastier.
    A dog ran around the pen, playing. It
was one of the lucky ones.
    We passed under a series of bridges,
and all at once the groups of people grew in number – so much so
they couldn't be classified as groups. It was just one, large
mass.
    "How are all these people surviving?"
I wondered aloud.
    "The rivers support the masses," Alex
said. "Look Bee!" He pointed to five horses tied up by the river,
drinking.
    Five horses! I never thought I'd see another horse.
    "Big dog!" Bee shouted at
them.
    We laughed. "Horse, honey. That's a
horse – neigh!"
    Bee spent the next two hours
practicing her horse sounds until one loud, horn blast drowned her
out. She jumped into my lap. "Thunder!"
    I brushed the hair out of her face and
kissed her forehead. "No – not thunder. Some kind of horn." I
turned around and looked at Alex, my eyebrows raised in
question.
    He shrugged.
    We slowed the canoe, and motioned the
rest of the group to do the same. Robert and Margie, now in a
double kayak, were the exception. They pushed forward to
investigate, both looking at me as they passed. Robert had a set
chin and narrowed eyes, Margie glanced over me from head to toe,
then Bee.
    Looking for injuries,
perhaps? Would she be relieved or disappointed that we had
none?
    I didn't get a chance to find out.
They rounded the river bend before I could read the expression on
her face. Their kayak disappeared from sight. A